the face of the earth threatens my broken heart.
am I broken?
the sword towers over me,
his troubled expression paints his face, decorating his bloody nose.
the shame of feeling any sort of emotions covers him in a blanket of darkness.
though he is my enemy.
I wish to kiss him.
his wild personality is unnatural to my heart.
the oil lamp lights up the bruises of his combat.
the nature to be fighting right now disappears, which is strange.
the feeling of war escapes from his face — remembering the pride to be cared about and cared for.
he leans forward and my stomach sinks; the dreadful feeling I once felt comes back.
swift with his actions — he brings his dagger from his holster and for a split second I feel at peace.
I didn't die in combat.
But I died with my lover.
YOU ARE READING
THE MOON WEEPS
Poetrypoetry // prose ( trigger warning. blood / suicide mentions & death hints ) [ ranked 8th in deep thinking 31/5/21 ] [ ranked 19 in poetry collection 13/6/21 ] [ ranked 101 in poetry 7/6/21 ]
